The Red Carpet
by MyInfiniteBliss
Summary: "My night wouldn't have been complete without at least one trip down the red carpet. Literally. Welcome to Hollywood." Blinded by constant flashing lights, actress Bella Swan can't seem to tell the difference between who is acting and who isn't anymore. Humor, scandal and romance ensures along with our usual suspects E/B AH/AU Twi-celebs.
1. The Red Carpet

Disclaimer: SM owns all.

AN: My beta's back! The brain is made up of two sides/hemispheres and each is responsible for different body functions and skills. In most people, the left side of the brain contains a person's language center, as the right controls cognitive functioning (thinking skill). That being said, sending love and hugs and a summer worthy Pina to the left side of my brain, Dawning Juliet.

These are the same chapters posted (with one on the way) as they are now all edited. Reposting has never felt so good.

* * *

**The Red Carpet**

**His Biggest Fan**

* * *

February 2004

I grunted and wiggled my toes around to get some blood circulating in them again, as fruitless an effort as it was.

"Damn these shoes," I grumbled under my breath.

Who pairs together an uncoordinated sixteen year old with a set of killer stilettos anyway? My father's new perky blonde, masochistic assistant, that's who.

"Stupid effing cu—"

"What was that?" my father asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," I started, quickly giving my father one of my sweetest smiles. "Stupid elfin creatures." I shuddered. "That movie gives me the creeps," I added for good measure.

"Hobbits," my father corrected.

"Whatever." I snorted and silently thanked my drama teachers back at Grace Academy. "Give me a movie about a sexy, seventeen year old vampire with killer green eyes, unruly, rusted hair and a devilish, panty-dropping smirk, and you'd have my vote along with the female population." I chuckled.

"A vampire, huh?" Charlie smirked. "He wouldn't happen to be sitting two rows in front of us, would he?" he asked, grinning at me.

"Sure." I grimaced as I caught his line of sight, having not realized I had so openly outed myself. "But one who isn't a complete douche. Cullen couldn't possibly fit the criteria." I shrugged nonchalantly. Charlie laughed and shook his head. "He has to sparkle like a girl, too."

"Anyone in particular you have in mind for the role, then?" He played along, tipping his head forward and waving to Charlize Theron. She smiled back and winked.

"Cougar," I said through a fake cough, smirking when my dad shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Miss Theron turned back around in hers. "Maybe Zach," I threw in offhandedly. "Or Jake."

"Bella," Charlie grunted. "Don't start with Zach. No is no."

"Fine," I huffed. "So unfair."

"And leave poor Edward alone. I don't think his ego can take another one of your hits."

"I highly doubt—"

"He's not the only one," he muttered under his breath, cutting me off.

Yeah, I heard it. Message delivered.

"If the whole world was blind…"

"Bella, don't start—"

"And the nominees for Best Director are…"

I tensed up at the same moment my father grabbed my hand. I licked my teeth to remove any possible trace of lipstick and squared my shoulders. As crazy as it sounded, I hated the attention. The cameras would focus on said nominee and more often than not, there was the chance that the zoom also included the occupant in the next seat.

"And the Oscar for Best Director goes to…" I wiggled my fingers trying to regain some sort of circulation as my father's grasp tightened while waiting for the best director to be announced.

"Carlisle Cullen, for _Waiting in the Darkness_!"

The crowd hooted, hollered and applauded, and my dad finally released my hand to do the same.

"Damn," I muttered. I thought for sure he had it this year.

"There's always next year, dad." I smiled encouragingly, inwardly cursing the Cullen name once again.

"Carl had this one in the bag, kiddo." He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

I picked up his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. "For what it's worth, you had my vote. Always will." Yeah, I was my dad's biggest fan.

"That's all that matters to me. Besides," he said, stretching in his seat, "We'll get him next year." His mustache twitched as he held back a laugh, his eyes lit in anticipation.

I looked to my left where a camera had been a minute before, focusing on my father. I checked over my shoulder to make sure the attention was still directed towards the man on stage giving yet another acceptance speech. Quickly, I readjusted my bra, sticking my hand in to pull the girls up and made sure the band straps hadn't tangled yet again. With an extra squeeze to confirm everything was in place, I smirked. The show would be wrapping up soon, and another walk along the carpet, clutching my father's arm was to be expected. I didn't need any unflattering shots headlining magazine covers.

I smiled at my stealthy accomplishment and looked up to watch—

"Shit," I gasped. Oh God, let me die of embarrassment now, I thought.

I wasn't as discrete with my brief fondle as I had thought. Edward Cullen stared at me with a shit-eating grin, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"You wish," I mouthed while flipping him the bird, returning my full undivided attention to center stage.

I mentally calculated the remaining hours I had to fake a saccharine smile. I couldn't wait to get back to my father's house, strip down, and throw on my old beat up sweatpants and t-shirt. I was done with Hollywood. And the Cullens.

At least for the night.

* * *

**Authors Notes and Credits:**

The 76th Annual Academy Awards took place in 2004, honoring the best films of 2003 with _The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King_ that won a record-tying eleven awards including Best Director for Peter Jackson and Best Picture. I changed the names (characters) to fit the story, but had to give proper credit to said director.

Updates should follow regularly, about a chapter a week, give or take. Just cut me some slack this week. A lady only turns 21 (every year for the past 10 years apparently) once!


	2. One

Disclaimer: SM owns all.

AN: I will try to have an update out by this week, my (yearly) birthday shenanigan's will try not to hinder this! My beta's back and as mentioned in my prior (asinine) post, she's absolutely fan-tastic (pun intended) If you haven't read her work yet be sure to check it out. You'll be missing out on a great read/author's talent otherwise. Once again, just another re-post having been edited by the famous, Dawning Juliet.

* * *

**Chapter One**

**In My City**

**2014**

Placing your hands under your ass or in your crotch is frowned upon by the general public.

_Well, damn_, I mentally sighed.

If I had to bet on it, the person who decided this must have lived in a very sunny and warm climate, having never experienced the frigid cold weather of New York in the winter. The other half of my mind quickly disputed this logic and conjured up a few mental images of my old prep school teachers, especially headmistress Vonkempt.

It was possible that it had originated in New York, after all.

I sat in the uncomfortable leather seat and held my hands together in a tight grasp. I didn't need anyone to bear whiteness to my extreme fidgeting, resulting in another round of assumptions blown out of proportion by the media. After all, you know what they say when you assume, and these days assumptions were all they ever had to go by.

My cell phone still sat abandoned in my bag where it remained on silent mode. I couldn't be bothered with it this early in the morning, and if I were being honest, I was avoiding a select few at the moment.

Silence truly was golden.

Two tabloid magazines that had caught my eye walking through the airport terminal—a rash decision to purchase them—lay on the unoccupied seat next to me as I waited to board my flight, the covers still unopened, the pages still unturned.

I wasn't one to flip through the (easily discredited) gossip rags. I kept my eyes and my mind away from them as much as possible. Unfortunately, that proved to be a hard feat in itself as they were everywhere and utterly unavoidable.

Everyone had a camera phone and social media was like heroine—the toxic king in the drug realm. Even senior citizens got high off it these days. It was disgusting to think that sweet, kind, and caring old women most likely sipped their tea and chatted endlessly about the latest sex or drug scandal while knitting a blanket for their great-grandchildren.

Anything and anyone could be used against you and, more often than not, was. There was seldom truth in the belittling or fabricated statements by "verified sources." Let's face it—love stories just didn't sell as much. Readers wanted the drama. Privacy, truth, and credibility were something rare and hard to come by.

Magazines aside, I still obeyed my father's cardinal rule; it had been drilled into my head for as long as I can remember. The older I got—no longer owning a pair of rose-colored glasses—the more his words rang out and held the unfortunate truth. To this day, not even at my weakest, I still never Googled myself.

"_No one will ever know and understand you better then yourself. Just be you. Always."_

I had been plagued with the bright flash of a camera since birth. Upon my entry into this life, the world suddenly thought they knew me better than I knew myself—only hours old. Some went as far as to predict and say they had already known my future love interest, triumphs and tribulations and occupation as the only heir to the Swan dynasty and fortune.

Maybe that was the reason I laughed at those fortune teller commercials and booths I'd walk past on the boardwalk every summer, or perhaps someone had been on to something and it had been the underlying reason I chose to eventually follow in my father's footsteps. I'm not much of a skeptic these days.

Life is easier when you're young and illiterate, when you still believe you can fly like Peter Pan, and that your favorite fairytale was secretly written about your own parents. Life was indeed easier when you were naive enough to believe in happily-ever-after.

A few years ago, Wikipedia and IMBD decided I was important enough to deserve a separate, individual page of my own. I was building upon my own merit and had established my own identity. A Swan, though no longer linked to my father—Isabella Marie and to the world who hadn't seen my live birth certificate I in fact, existed. A few friends of mine had taken me out and we celebrated into the early morning hours. If I remembered correctly, a hangover that lasted a full three days followed, but it was worth it. Jose and I, however, haven't been on speaking terms since, that evil, sneaky bastard.

A friend of mine had checked out my IMBD just to make sure of its accuracy. Hey, you never know.

_Isabella Marie Swan: Musician/Actress/Screenwriter._

_Date of Birth: September 13, 1988. Daughter to Renee Bridget Ford Swan and Academy Award Winning Actor and Director, Charles Liam Swan. _

My parents divorced when I was 4, and my mother, having been granted sole custody, kept me with her on the East Coast. Charlie moved across the country to Arizona, relocating only a year later to California where he's lived ever since. They were polar opposites in every way, so it seemed fitting that they'd live in opposite sides of the country as well.

The media dragged my parents' divorce through the mud. Some said my mother was unfaithful and had a drinking problem, turning the press to favor the esteemed director, Charles Swan. A womanizing alcoholic wouldn't have been good for business, although that didn't stop others from coming up with their own hurtful stories and speculations. Apparently, something had to have driven Renee to the extreme, leaving her to seek the bottle and, according to the press, my father had been the one responsible.

Truth? Neither of my parents cheated on one another, and neither of them admitted or seemed to have hit the hard stuff. I never actually asked Charlie if his year in Arizona was spent within a glamorous Hollywood rehab, but odds were it wasn't for any substance problem if it were true. I know he still wouldn't have admitted to it, but it was plain to see, Charles Swan will still head over heels in love with my mother.

You've got to love Hollywood.

It sounded like such a dirty word. Hollywood—a stage littered with thousands of actors auditioning for a permanent role in the story called life.

It is sad but true that I couldn't tell who was acting and who wasn't anymore as the lines of reality blurred to the point of being severely obscured. It was disheartening, to say the least. I never knew who I was blindly auditioning for these days, my own family included. And for what role?

I sighed and rummaged through my bag in search of a piece of gum, suffering from a bad case of coffee breath. I popped a piece in my mouth and sat back as far as the chair would allow. I was exhausted and had mentally checked out hours ago—physically drained, having spent the previous day packing up the remaining items I swore I would eventually get to before the last minute. That didn't happen. I fully admit, I have always been and always will be the queen of procrastination, but this week I really took it to a whole new level. I internally groaned.

My day, a big one at that, had just started. I'd see the sun rise in New York and would see it set in California, my new home. The moving company had already begun the long drive early this morning, lugging my life, all twenty-six years' worth, across the country. I shuddered at the thought of having to unpack.

Up until recently, New York had been the only place I'd ever been able to call home. I still couldn't imagine fitting into California life one hundred percent. New Yorkers—for the most part—could spot an out-of-towner a mile away. I hoped I wouldn't stand out too much on the West Coast.

I checked my watch for what seemed like the hundredth time since I'd walked into the airport and sighed as the nostalgia began to creep its way towards my heart. I shook my head and tried to smother it down along with the butterflies swirling in my stomach. I'd miss being a New Yorker.

No one who lives in the big city ever goes to the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State building, or down to Rock Center. It's always loud; I'd be worried if it weren't. We walk fast. Cabs do not rip tourists off. Let me clarify: cabs rip anyone off, and good luck trying to get into one, especially if it is raining. You will not die if you eat a hot dog from a vending cart. You can smell the peanuts and pretzels a block away, and that foul, sour odor that has been lingering all day long, probably embedded into your nose hairs by now? Well, that's the smell of piss! I do not lie and I do not sugarcoat. After all, I was born and raised a New Yorker.

Yeah, I would definitely miss home.

My summers had been divided up ever since my parents' divorce, half of it spent out on Long Island in the Hamptons at my grandparents' estate, and the other half spent across the country in California with Charlie.

Renee, being Renee, had many attempted and failed marriages over the years, and somewhere along the way, she forgot how to be a parent. She traveled the world, never putting down any permanent roots, and became the glorified trophy wife on the arm of one of her many husbands. Often I'd come home from school during holiday breaks to find we had relocated once again, boxes of my personal belongings that I hadn't taken to school stacked and shoved into an empty, unrecognizable room.

Charlie had dated a few starlets over the years—the number was lower than the tabloids made it out to be—and chose to remain married to his work, throwing himself into it entirely. My monthly visits with him were either cut short or rescheduled, and eventually cut out completely. He made the occasional trip to New York to spend a few days with me in-between meetings he had scheduled, but that was about it.

Emails replaced phone calls, and postcards served as cancelations around the holidays when either parent couldn't make it home. As odd as it may sound, I didn't resent them. I couldn't. I adored my grandparents, and they quickly helped fill a void that my parents' absence left, unbeknownst to myself at the time.

I remember the summer months the most, my favorite time of year. Unfortunately, those months seemed to go by too fast, and it was over before it had even begun as I found myself staring at the tacky wallpaper back at the academy at summer's end. I shuddered, thinking about my years there; they were not my fondest memories. It was, however, my early introduction into the arts—my passion. My love for it quickly became my outlet. It helped a bit that the gene ran in the family as well; it was often said I was a natural.

Damn that fortune teller. I was elated as she was correct in her prediction of me taking to the stage extraordinarily, however I was extremely disgruntled on all the other less-than-favorable bullshit she'd spewed. Lying tarot card reading bitch.

When I turned nineteen—with a fake ID in hand—the bar scene opened up. I was a freshman in college at NYU and, to be honest, I was your stereotypical nineteen year old boarding school graduate. I was convinced I had it all, that I was never wrong, and that this was the time of my life.

The media, much to my family's dismay, ran a few articles that included inebriated photographs, helping to turn any form of truth to trash within seconds, guilty or not. Something as simple as going to the Beer Garden was just not that simple even when we had to use the back entrance to avoid busloads of people taking pictures. They were relentless, and it's not something you want to openly risk—having your face recognized, especially when you're drinking underage in a public establishment.

Truth was, looking back a few years, I had failed to realize at the time how little I actually knew, and how much I still had yet to learn. Everything I wanted in my late teens—even my early twenties—had finally started to fall into place. But not before I hit rock bottom.

I was finished with my "trial and error days" as some would label it, and as my carefree ways began to diminish, I grew more cautious, all for good reason.

I was generally healthier, mentally at least, as I still had my weak moments once a month when I whored myself out on my sofa with two deliciously edible men, Ben and Jerry. Monthly drama aside, my self-esteem increased with no help from the media hounds from hell. They were still the usual persistent assholes they had always been; I just learned to block them out better throughout the years.

If you cut the things and people out of your life that don't add to your happiness, you're less likely to get walked all over, and life will eventually get better. I was no longer a people pleaser. My only concern was for myself, as horrible and cruel as that sounds, but so far I was doing pretty well.

Bella's Life Lesson 1: When someone walks away from you, it's not the end of your story. It's the end of their part in your story.

Sometimes you make choices in life, and sometimes choices make you.

Lifting my coffee cup, I took one last sip before getting up from my chair to toss it into the garbage bin along with the magazines.

"Later, alligator," I mumbled to no one in particular with a grin on my face, walking towards the gate with a one way ticket.

* * *

AN: Although I love getting feedback from my readers letting me know your thoughts, I will not tolerate acidic tongues. So far I'm happy to see I have not had any, so thank you for your support and praise. It's the ultimate form of motivation. Thank you!

To all of my LiW readers, I have not (and never will) abandon that story. She's my baby, my first born, and I'm just about finished with the next chapter, so fret not. Just had to get this rabid rabbit (plot bunny lol) off my back. Little sucker has been persistently pestering me!

* * *

Playlist:

In My City - Ellie Goulding

It's Amazing - Jem (Sex in the City Soundtrack)

When We're Young - The Killers (Victoria Secret Fashion Show Remix)

New York State of Mind - Billy Joel


	3. Two

Disclaimer: SM owns everything. Le sigh.

AN: "People put you down enough, you start to believe it." What movie? It happens to be one of my personal favorites, the quote fresh enough in my mind as I just watched it.

My fantastic beta Dawning Juliet had me in tears while editing this one over. Fun times and good laughs. I'm smirking just thinking about your notes on the next chapter. Thank you DJ, my messy Mojito!

* * *

Chapter Two

Two Feet on Shaky Ground

* * *

"Oh my, Beauty," Sue greeted me exuberantly as I walked over to her out of the arrival gate, my overstuffed leather satchel bag weighing down my left side. She enveloped me in one of her trademark hugs, making the bag drop to the floor. I returned her hug with both arms in earnest; I was glad to see her.

Out of all the staff members my father had employed over the years, Sue was my favorite. She quickly became someone I cherished spending time with while visiting Charlie, becoming more like an extension of my family along with her son, Seth. They say that first impressions either go extremely well or turn out terrible, leaving you with an indelible opinion—good or bad—that will last a lifetime. Susan and I clicked from the moment we met, and she has been a constant in my West coast life ever since.

Pulling myself out of her welcoming embrace, I looked around in search of my father, but I could immediately tell he wasn't there. It was probably best though, what with the paps hounding the airport. It would have been such a spectacle, and that would have cheapened our reunion. I wasn't shocked Charlie wasn't here, as sad as that might sound, and I most certainly didn't have abandonment issues. I'm sure something of more importance had taken up his morning. I shook my head, quickly trying to dispel my dampened train of thought. It wouldn't serve any of us if I let my mind go down that route. Instead, I found myself smiling towards my present company, thankful that if he had to send someone in his place, he at least knew me well enough to send Sue.

"Hey, Sue." I smiled as I shifted from one foot the other. Emotional situations weren't my thing—they made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. "Do I even have to ask where Charlie is?" I tried to come off as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll have none of that this morning, Beauty."

I scowled playfully at the sound of her nickname for me, which she knew I hated, but secretly adored. "We'll get to Mr. Swan in a minute, but first let me have a good look at you." She shoved me back a bit to stand in front of her. Quirking an eyebrow, she grinned. "I didn't think it was possible, Beauty, but once again, I am mistaken," she said, sounding like an adoring mother, which in many ways she was. "Bella mia, indeed." She chuckled.

I blushed and shrugged as I bent down to pick up my satchel, not liking all the attention, even if it was only Sue. She must have seen it in my face and took pity on me.

"Well then, let's go and get your things so we can hit the road. We can avoid the morning rush hour if we hop right to it."

"Then we'll be home in no time," I said, snickering. "What you see is what you get. This is it." I held up my rather large, bulky bag. "Hopefully the moving company isn't delayed and everything else will arrive in a few days." I shrugged, not particularly caring. I had enough outfits to last me through the rest of the week; besides, I planned on getting some more California weather-appropriate outfits. I was sure my system would be sent through a shock coming from the freezing temperatures into the blistering heat. _Fantastic_, I thought to myself.

Sue frowned and turned to lead the way out towards the car. I reached into my bag and grabbed my New York Yankee's fitted baseball cap and quickly threw it on my head along with my Ray Bans. Everyone at some point flies into LAX. It's a breeding ground for the unfortunate photos that grace the tabloid covers, featuring you at your utmost worst after having endured long hours on a stuffy plane. Unless you wanted a run-in with the paparazzi who will no doubt be waiting for you, along with some asshole asking the most mundane questions possible, it was best to try your damnedest to disguise yourself while keeping your head down and walking as fast as possible amidst the flashing lights. Six hours of air travel were just enough time for a pap in NY to tip a pap in LA. Before you knew it, it became a full blown gang bang at LAX, and you were stuck right in the middle of it. Nothing "O-face" worthy there, especially if you were lucky enough to catch a cat nap on the plane and forgot to wipe the remains of drool off of the corners of your mouth. I've heard it's happened many times.

Bella's Airport Lesson #1: There are no coincidences. If you got shot at LAX, it means someone sold you out, and odds were until you went into hiding, they were going to follow you around and hound the hell out of you. Why, you ask? Simply put, everyone is completely batshit crazy. Every single human being is fucking insane, and they have nothing better to do with their time. _And to think people paid top dollar for that shit_.

Getting to the car was quick and painless, and I thanked whatever god(s) had answered my silent prayer. Throwing my bag in first, I plopped into the back seat of the car and sighed. Sue shuffled in after me. A potential crisis was once again avoided.

"Welcome home, Miss Bella," Tom—our driver—said from the front seat as he maneuvered the car out of the parking spot. He was a pretty cool dude, having worked for my dad for about five years, also doubling as security when the need arose. Tom had had to fend off paps or anyone who got in his way on several occasions. He was "built," I guess you could say, in his late thirties to early forties, but didn't come across intimidating in the least. I guess that was why my dad kept him around—his unassuming attitude caught others off-guard. No one would ever guess that your driver was also a secret ninja.

"Thanks, Tom." I smiled, looking back over at Sue. "It feels good to be back."

"That's right, Mr. Jenks. Our Beauty is here to stay. Finally." She chuckled, as did Tom.

"About time, if I do say so myself," he replied fondly with a nod. I caught a slight smile on Sue's face; her eyes were trained forward on the back of Thomas' head. Looking back to the front of the car, I saw a similar smile tug at the corners of Tom's lips as his eyes had locked with Sue's in the rearview mirror.

A bubble of laughter slipped from my lips as they both looked away and cleared their throats. And cue the blushing! Whoa!

_Did Sue have the hots for Tom?_ As if I'd been heard, she glanced at me with narrowed eyes and shook her head at me before turning to look out the window. Oh, how cute. The cougar has her claws out! Who would have thought she had it in her? If I didn't love her as much as I did, I'd have teased her relentlessly, but I kept it to myself. If Sue was digging on Tom, then good for her. I wasn't one to judge, especially since I'd had three relationships—total—all of them complete and utter failures. It wasn't like guys were lining up around to block for me with security warding them off with pitchforks. I wasn't biased, but then again, I wasn't overly confident in myself either. I was working on it, but it was easier said than done, especially within the circles I traveled. Having the media dub me "average" might have had something to do with that, too.

I was all for "when it happened, it happened," and I didn't plan on changing that any time soon. For one, I wasn't going to go flaunting myself around LA like your typical A-list Hollywood bombshell, that was for sure. "Average" worked for me.

"Do we have time to stop at a Starbucks, Tom?" I asked hopefully, adding a megawatt smile for effect. It always worked on my father. What I really needed at that moment more than anything was coffee, but knowing Sue, anything that would take us off-course for even five measly minutes would give her a coronary. It was stupid of me to ask; I had a feeling that wouldn't be happening any time soon. Sleep had become scarce these past few days as I tried to fit in as much time with my East coast friends and family as I could on top of packing. What I would give to feel the rush of caffeine.

"We are dropping you off at The Beverly Hills Hotel. They have a coffee room there; you can get something while you wait. Traffic is moving well and Rebecca said that they would probably run late, but it shouldn't interfere with your lunch plans."

"Why is dad at The BHH?"

"Your father is finishing up some morning interviews that, unfortunately, he couldn't postpone. A few members of his cast will be there as well. He's in full promotional mode for his upcoming project."

"Oh." I sighed. So much for thinking Charlie bailed on me for something detrimental and life-threatening.

I felt a tight grasp on my left hand and looked up to see Sue smiling. "He tried," she said knowingly. "And there are worse places an interview could take place, Beauty. Just enjoy a few moments to yourself this morning and unwind after your flight. You look tired, dear, just relax a bit. I'm sure—"

"Yeah, sure, sounds great, Sue," I mumbled, stopping her from making any more excuses for Charlie. I turned my head to the right, out of her line of sight, and watched the streets rush by in silence.

"Bella." Sue attempted to reason with me once again.

"So how has Seth been?" I asked, cutting her off and changing the topic. She sighed before answering.

"Wonderful. He's just about wrapping up the end of his college years; he graduates this May. He already has a few companies offering him internships. He's going places, that one." Her voice was filled with pure pride and joy.

"That's fantastic!" I really did like Seth. He was the man of the house from such a young age and tried his hardest to take care of his mother after Sue's deadbeat husband up and left them. It was perfect timing, I guess you could say, although I'm a firm believer in "nothing is a coincidence." My dad needed a new chef and Sue needed a job to support herself and her son. She and Seth filled a void in the house, and the rest was history, as they say.

"He will be so happy to see you," Sue continued, interrupting my trip down memory lane. "It's all he's talked about for the past week now that he's home on holiday break. He is secretly hoping you will let him sneak in an interview as well." She winked.

"I don't—"

"Just promise me that when the time comes, you'll give it a thought."

"Okay," I agreed, offering her a smile.

"You're going to love the house. It's all decorated for the holidays, and I know Christmas is your favorite time of year."

Christmas. _Great_, I thought sarcastically. I hadn't even begun to put a dent in my shopping. At the rate I was going, everyone would be getting gift cards. I instantly felt horrible and selfish. My mother was—once again—spending the holidays abroad with Phil. In an attempt to come across as a doting parent and one-up Charlie, she'd always sent over the most outrageous, inappropriate gifts to make up for her absence, items that either wouldn't fit—wrong shoe size, coat size—or were completely useless. Too bad Renee failed to get the memo: I didn't do tacky.

"Christmas." I tried to smile, but I'm sure I just looked constipated. Sue raised her eyebrows in question.

"Just caught me off-guard is all." I chuckled half-heartedly. "I still can't believe it's only two weeks away."

"Well, I'm sure you'll have more than enough time to find some gifts for everyone." She patted my hand on the center console.

"How do you know I wasn't just counting down the days until your traditional bake-off?" I giggled, raising a brow. "Tom will agree, won't you Tom?" I motioned towards the front.

"Highly anticipated and delicious," he said as he nodded. "It's my favorite time of year for a reason, Miss Bella. It only comes second to the annual snowball fights." He grinned wickedly.

"You're still the victor there, Tom." I laughed, shaking my head as everyone else began to snicker. It didn't snow in Beverly Hills. I often complained as a child visiting for the holidays that the season wasn't right if it wasn't cold and there wasn't any snow. Sue had to reassure me that Santa traveled worldwide and didn't require a snow-covered landing strip. Living in a director's house hadn't changed her views on the diluted, fabricated illusion that Hollywood painted for young minds. I didn't understand at the time and didn't care once I woke up to see that Santa had managed to make it over to the West coast, my greedy little fingers digging into the pile of presents underneath the tree with renewed hope.

"Your apple pies are pure _sin_, Sue." I wiggled my eyebrows to emphasize the last word.

"Anything in mind for what you might get Charlie?" she asked. She was quick to deflect, but she didn't fool me. Her cheekbones still glowed with a slight blush.

Touché! You could never get one past Sue, that was for sure. She could read anyone like a book and smelled bullshit a mile away. I never stood a chance. It was better to remain quiet than to try and lie yourself out of a bind. Even people who seemed to have their shit together, she pegged them for a crappy liar with bad acting skills, kind of like my dad. It was freaky, if I was being honest.

"Don't you worry about your pie, Miss Bella," Tom said from the front with fondness in his voice. "Miss Sue has been cooking up a storm for days in honor of your arrival. She wouldn't hear of having you miss out on spending the holidays—"

"Tom!" Sue interrupted abruptly, a panicked expression overtaking her carefree demeanor. "We're running ahead of schedule by a good twenty minutes, at least. There is a Starbucks coming up right off Sunset. I could use a quick pick me up as well, come to think of it."

"Sure," he agreed, signaling to get over into the right lane, looking as confused as I felt.

"What—"

"You said you'd enjoy a cup before you met with Charlie, dear. I'll be wired for the rest of the day, but I'll go for one as well." Sue rarely drank coffee.

Acting 101. I aced that class. Sue's eyes were bright with excitement and her nerves betrayed her as she twiddled her fingers in her lap.

Pulling over to the curb, Tom swiveled in the front seat to take my order, causing me to laugh as he shuddered and mumbled a quick "Hope I get it right" as he got out. The car fell oddly silent. Charlie had been acting strange during the past few phone calls, but he'd reassured me he had a few surprises up his sleeve for when I arrived. He refused to discuss them over the phone. I'd bet his bank account that Charlie's gag order forgot to include his driver.

"How are Claire and Henry doing these days?" Sue asked, avoiding my blatant "gotcha" stare.

"Good," I said as I smiled. "They're doing really well these days."

"That's nice."

Ten minutes later I found myself hugging Sue goodbye and promising to catch a ride home with Charlie or to call for Tom to pick me up. I still hadn't figured out transportation and needed to head to the dealership pretty soon. I had no idea what I wanted, and already I felt exasperated at the thought of having to get a car. Having lived in New York City, not only had there been no need for a car, but securing a parking spot usually involved a knife fight, sought after as it was. I did have my license though, and during the summer, my grandfather would throw me the keys to his classic 1957 Chevy Bel Air. "If you can parallel park this boat, you can park anything, Bells," he'd say with a hearty laugh. How right grandpa Rich was. I could squeeze anything into any old spot without hesitation. I couldn't see how it'd possible to live in LA and not have my own car; just one more thing to add to my list while I'm here.

The sight of the Beverly Hills Hotel, also known as the "Pink Palace," was something to behold. The sheer opulence—dignified as it was—of the historical, luxurious hotel was breathtaking. It reflected Hollywood's Golden Age—my personal favorite era—and it purposefully remained in that era, staying faithful to the original architecture and interior design. The hotel had been carefully renovated to preserve its supreme level of comfort and flair. I couldn't help but smile as the history buff inside of me rummaged through its past guests. _If these walls could talk._

Howard Hughes—aviator, business tycoon, filmmaker, and philanthropist—lived at the hotel on and off for thirty years. He could afford it though; he was one of the wealthiest people in the world. As a maverick film tycoon, he gained prominence in Hollywood in the late 1920s, making big-budget yet often controversial films. My father said he was insane, and he was—literally. But he was also great. I guess it was true what people said: there really was a fine line between genius and insanity.

Unfortunately, the glamorous Hollywood legends were gone, and along with them went its Golden Age. I couldn't help but transplant myself back in time as I stood off to the side of the grand lobby. Marilyn Monroe probably stood in this exact same spot at one point; that was something I couldn't even wrap my head around. I never wanted to forget who I was and let the glitz and glamour get to my head. I was perfectly fine with being the average Bella Swan. I was still humble, still grounded. Nowadays, you'd probably spot Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton prancing through the hotel, and that wasn't saying much. How the place still stood after a run in with the likes of them was beyond me.

"Good-morning, Isabella," Rebecca greeted me stiffly, startling me out my daze.

"Hi." I nodded in return. "You must be Rebecca," I inferred, extending a hand forward to shake hers. I had never met her, but I'd spoken to her a few times when she took messages from me to give to Charlie. Sad, but true—it was an easier and a much more assured way to get a message through to him by going through one of his assistants rather than trying to get him directly.

She eyed my hand for a moment before smiling genuinely and shaking it. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Isabella. Mr. Swan talks about you all the time." I was sure the second part of her statement wasn't really the case, just something she added along with a generic smile to take the awkward edge off.

"You as well, Rebecca. And please, call me Bella." Rebecca was easy to read, and I had a feeling, unlike Charlie's prior PAs, that we'd get along fabulously. She was young—perhaps a bit too young—but then again, this was Hollywood; she could have been in her forties, and I wouldn't have been the wiser with her tall, slim figure, flawless skin, and long, shiny black hair.

"Bella," she called, typing furiously on her Blackberry before looking up to address me again. "Your father has been delayed, but he shouldn't be too much longer. If you want, you can sit outdoors by the pool in one of the cabanas, and I can have someone sent over to take any drink requests you might have." She was competent, I'll give her that. "I heard the Mojito Pops are absolutely fantastic," she assured me with a wistful smile. "As soon as they begin to wrap up, I can come back for you and bring you over to the Presidential Suite Bungalow. They have a sitting area outside where they have set up the interviews, otherwise I would send you over there right away, but it shouldn't be too long now."

"Thank you." I grinned at her anxious efficiency, as though I'd start screaming at her for the delay; she didn't know a thing about me at all. I was easygoing, and I wasn't about to act like a spoiled starlet who refused to be kept waiting an extra ten minutes. "The pool will be fine; just let me know when he is finished," I said with an easy smile.

"Of course. Right this way, please." She led the way with a wave of her hand. "As Charlie may or may not have had a chance to mention as of yet," she continued at a brisk pace while walking through the tropical gardens, "you will have temporary use of one of his assistants until you've had the opportunity to interview someone more to your liking to hire on as your personal staff. Charlie understands it would be too hectic and overwhelming, what with the holidays rapidly approaching and your sudden move. He wants you to feel as comfortable as possible. You are free pick to from any of us."

"Oh," I stammered, not knowing how to reply.

"We are just trying to make your adjustment easier on you, Bella," she said with a gentle smile. "You don't have to use any of us, but it would be extremely beneficial for the time being."

I nodded, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. "Thank you." I took a seat at the table closest to the French doors, hiding in the shadows cast by the side of the hotel.

"See you in a few," Rebecca replied, frowning at my choice of seating. Typing once again on that dreadful phone, she waved a server over to take my order before walking back through the French doors at a hurried pace.

I sat back in my chair and took in my surroundings, tossing my bag onto the table. The area was truly exquisite, and Sue was right—you couldn't complain much about having to wait out here as opposed to a chair in a stuffy office building. Beautiful cabanas, lounge chairs, umbrella tables, and an upper sun deck added to the aura of mystique around the hotel's pool. Numerous classic films had been shot here, and it was easy to see why.

"May I take your order?"

Looking up, I shrugged at the handsomely dressed waiter. "The Mojito Pop?" It came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

"Absolutely. Can I interest you in a fine mist of Evian as well, Miss Swan?"

"No. No, thank you," I corrected myself, trying but failing miserably at a smile. _An Evian mist? Did I just hear him correctly?_

"Very well, then. I will be back with your order." He nodded politely, turning in the direction of the outdoor bar.

I dug through my bag and retrieved my cell phone. After returning a few text messages with news that I'd made it safely, having had no run-ins at LAX, I sighed and put my phone back down.

"If there is anything else you require, please let me know," the waiter said, having appeared out of thin air as he set my Mojito Pop down on the table.

"Thank you." I smiled, about to pick up said pop. It looked… interesting?

"Is this seat taken?" An exuberantly high-pitched voice asked as I looked to my left and saw someone slide the chair out. _Oh, my God. Not today. Please, God, not today_.

"Hi, Bella! It's great to run in to you here," she squealed, reaching over to give me a loose one-arm hug. "I guess that's a given, though. I saw Charlie earlier, and he might have mentioned that you were flying in today."

"Hey, Taylor." I smiled, trying to return her exuberance. She was bubbly, overly so, to the point that might border on not being exactly right upstairs, if you knew what I meant. Either that, or she was constantly on speed. Her long blonde hair was kept down in loose ringlets that bounced at the bottom, and she sported a very fashion-forward red tube top with a matching—and much too short—red skirt. The fire-engine red outfit matched her dramatic, pouty lips. She looked like a road kill bloodstain.

"A little birdie might have also slipped," she said as she wiggled her perfectly shaped brows and leaned in closer to whisper conspiratorially, "that you just moved here. I, for one, think that is fantastic. I haven't seen you in ages! When was it? Oh yes, the Cullens' house this past Labor Day!"

One thing you have to know about Taylor: when she had the floor—scratch that, she always had the floor—you were lucky to get a word in during one of her mindless, ongoing rambling monologues. It was best to just sit back and act like you were paying attention. I should have ordered something stronger; maybe I'd take that overpriced water misting after all.

I had met Miss Swift a couple of years ago at one of the award show's after parties. Throw in some on-again-off-again, not so discreet relationships with a few actor friends we had in common, and she began to pop up all over the place, always seeking me out, much to my dismay. Taylor wasn't exactly a new face among the Hollywood crowd, but to give the Prada-wearing devil her due, she had moved up the fame ladder rather quickly, and we started to run in the same crowds. Not that I was one to talk—I was usually only in attendance because of my father, having not hit the big leagues yet myself. That being said, I had to give the girl credit.

"You ran into my father?" I asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

She nodded. "I'm waiting on Jake," she said, taking a sip of her fruity umbrella drink. "He's doing some interview for a new movie he was cast in."

"Oh—"

"He looks so cute," she squealed. I resisted the urge to cover my ears against her near-supersonic screeching._ Tone it down a few notches, please_. "You have to see him, Bella! He's been gearing up to play this role for like, _ever_! Putting more hours in at the gym, as if that's even possible—obviously he has to, since he's required to take his shirt off a lot during the movie. He's chiseled to perfection in my book!" She laughed, seemingly giddy at her good fortune. "Aren't you the least bit excited about your father's new movie?" she prodded. "It's going to be a hit!"

"I haven't had a chance to talk to Charlie about—"

"Oh-Em-Gee! You're going to absolutely adore it," she gushed. _Where the hell was that drink_? I wondered, holding back an eye roll while considering bashing my head on the tiled tabletop.

"So you and Jake are—"

"Yes! It was destiny. You know us." She smiled a bit too sweetly. "It was all Cullen's fault anyway," she grumbled, getting lost in thought—a very dark place, by the looks of it. The name instantly piqued my interest. She wouldn't be talking about Edward, would she? I doubt she meant Alice or Carlisle, so odds were, it had to have been him.

"Edward?" I asked, hoping she'd indulge me and talk more than she should—a first.

She nodded flippantly. "We went out a few times. He wasn't my type. If I'm being honest at all, I wanted to make Jakey jealous at the time, and Cullen kept hounding me, so I finally took pity on him and gave in." I was skeptical about her being the one chased after in this scenario. "He is a slobbering mess in the tongue department as well," she said with a malicious snicker. "Dreadful kisser." She cringed at the memory. Well, that sealed it. There was no way Taylor had hooked up with Cullen. I was able to attest to the fact that Edward happened to be a fantastic, toe-curl-worthy kisser. Too bad he was a complete asshole. But that was an entirely different story.

I hadn't heard any rumors of Cullen dating Swift, and usually had there been any speculation, truth notwithstanding, the tabloids would have run with the story. I'd seen her openly flaunt herself in his direction dozens of times, all of them unreciprocated. I laughed to myself. Taylor Swift had most certainly never dated Edward Cullen.

Taylor's love life had made headlines on more than one occasion; her breakups and subsequent breakup songs even more so. I personally thought she should have tried dating Bruno Mars at one point. The most likely melancholy duo, borderline suicidal, would have been truly heart wrenching. On second thought, it was probably best they had never dated. I'm not sure the pharmaceutical companies would be able to produce enough Prozac to keep those two from going full-blown emo.

"So Cullen—" I was interrupted yet again, unable to get to the gushy, fabricated story she'd spewed. Shucks. It sounded quite entertaining, perhaps even promising. Oh well.

"I think we grow up thinking the only love that counts as _true love_ is the kind that lasts forever or is fully realized. When you have a broken heart, the first thing a stranger will ask is 'how long were you two together?' Seriously? As if your pain can be determined by how long you were with someone. Or if you were with them at all," she sneered. "I just don't think that's how it works, you know?" she said, twiddling the pink umbrella in her drink. "I think unrequited love is just as valid as any other kind. It's just as crushing and just as thrilling."

"True love." I giggled, earning a scowl from her. Poor Jacob must have been pulling out all the stops while walking on eggshells, trying not to get on her bad side. No one—I repeat, _no one_—wants a song written about them in which they're the evil heartbreaker. Taylor's songs were completely one-sided, and her huge fan base didn't bode well for the infamous ex du jour.

"Don't mock it, Bella," she admonished. "Come to think, I can't say that I've ever seen you bring an actual date with you to any premiere, awards ceremony, or after party. And why, pray tell, is that?" she asked with a knowing smirk.

"I just—"

"No matter," she continued, holding up a hand to stop me mid-sentence. "I heard that you dated Jeremy Hall last year, and that it went south after you poured your heart out to him. I believe I read somewhere you had a mental breakdown after baring your soul to him only to have the feelings unreciprocated."

I grunted and half laughed. Disgusting. For reasons such as this, I hated the media. "That's actually not what—"

"Listen to me, sweetie." She leaned forward and put her hand on top of mine. I instantly wanted to shake her off, but contained myself. Where the fuck was Charlie? "I want you to remember that what you are doing is selfless and beautiful and kind—not having balled him out publicly after those articles spread like wild fire. I can't blame you for taking a step back from the dating scene after that shit storm. Honestly, I can't." She shook her head and cringed with exaggerated affectation. "Oh," she gasped, "and before I forget, I wanted to call you personally—I really did—to see how you were holding up, but I was so extremely busy. You understand, right? Well, obviously, as you know how it is." She chuckled. "You love someone purely because you love them, not because you think you'll ever have your affections returned. Some people actually find that admirable—admiring something for its beauty, without needing to own it. I'm all for that, sister. You should feel good about being the kind of person who loves recklessly." _Please, someone, make her stop._ "I think someday you'll find someone who loves you in that exact way that you need, and together you will find the 'forever' kind of love. Don't give up hope." She smiled and grasped my hand even tighter to drive her point home. She was fucking delusional!

"Bella," Rebecca called, saving me from an awkward silence that was sure to fill the space. Not that I would have been able to get a word in edgewise. Taylor couldn't have been further from the truth. Another reason why I didn't read the tabloids, obviously unlike her.

"Hi, Rebecca." I smiled brightly, grateful for her timely intervention, expelling a breath and placing the uneaten, dripping pop on a napkin. I pulled my hand out of Taylor's grasp and quickly rose from my chair, gathering my bag from the table.

"Your father is just about ready for you," she informed me. "Why don't we head over—"

"Oh!" Taylor giggled excitably. "That must mean that Jake—"

"No, Miss Swift." She shook her head, cutting her off. "Mr. Black is still occupied at the moment. I will send him over as soon as he's done, and as you have been warned previously, you are not allowed on set."

"Tsk tsk, Becky." She smirked as she clicked her tongue, turning to face me once again. "Don't forget to call me, Bella. I'm just so happy you are here! We'll do lunch, go shopping—that's first on our list, actually," she said, eyeing over my traveling attire, "and hit up a few clubs! You'll snag a guy in no time."

"Sounds good." I faked a smile and waved. "Bye, Taylor." _That wouldn't be happening any time soon_. I caught Becky's huff and eye roll and had to bite back a laugh that threatened to explode at the moment. _My sentiments exactly_. I think it was in that moment of clarity, having been pulled out of the "Taylor Bubble of Bullshit," that I had found my temp PA.

"Pleasant day, Miss Swift," she added as she turned her back and walked brisk fully towards the hotel. I chuckled, unable to hold back. Yes, I had definitely found my temp.

* * *

Author Notes: I do not dislike Taylor Swift, I just needed someone who cried about love. You can't deny she does. "Like, ever."

Another update to follow quickly if the children behave and cut me some slack so I can write more then one sentence within a thirty minute period. Sad but true story. Moving along.


	4. Three

**Disclaimer: SM owns all.**

* * *

"People call these things imperfections. Oh, but they're not. That's the good stuff. Then we get to choose who we let into our weird little worlds."

- Robin Williams, Good Will Hunting

My writing has many imperfections (and Dawning Juliet my amazing beta always clear's them up for me). I chose to let others in to see for themselves, as my mind cannot be contained nor would I want it to be. "But ah, that's the good stuff." I don't care which way the media wants to take the death of Mr. Williams; that's just Hollywood and logistics to me. The bottom line is that death is final, and it will always be a tragedy—the "how" equation involved in a person's demise is irrelevant. A death is still a death. That being said, "Genie, you're free." RIP Robin Williams and thank you for trying to make the world smile a bit more.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"Um, Bella?" Rebecca angled her head to the side, eyeing me curiously. "What are you doing?"

I helplessly laughed at having been caught playing with my fingers like a toddler as they began to adhere to one another from having held a melting pop minutes before.

"Can we stop at a bathroom before heading over to Charlie?" I felt absolutely wretched. I gave up and held up my hand for her to see. "That Mojito melted all over me."

Rebecca laughed in sympathy. "My kid brother used to do that."

I sighed. "Fantastic."

"With his boogers," she added, winking. "I was going to ask you how they tasted, but upon finding you—bailing you out is more like it—sitting with Miss Swift, I thought better of it."

"Never tried a booger before. Sorry, I can't help you there." I smirked, earning a heartfelt chuckle.

"One of these days I'll find the time to just head over to the pool and grab one for myself. My taste buds were looking forward to living vicariously though you."

"You've never had one before?" I asked. "I thought you said—"

She interrupted me with a sigh. "I said I'd heard they were marvelous, not that I had actually tried one myself. I never have any free time on my hands these days."

"Well then, we'll have to make it a priority since you are now, if you will agree, my temp PA."

"I would be honored, Miss Swan." She giggled.

I raised a hand to correct her. "Bella. None of that 'miss' shit." I laughed, throwing in some profanity to make it seem less formal. Hopefully Rebecca would let her guard down soon enough and jump on the bandwagon. There were a lot of things I was able to tolerate, but stiffness was not one of them. I was sure a sailor was hidden under her Armani pencil-skirt suit. It was time to try and make her relax enough to the point where it might make an appearance.

"Taylor is—" I began.

"A handful." Rebecca shook her head in disgust. "She's already been kicked out of the suite twice today, not to mention the countless times she's tried to sneak her way on set back at the studio. She's utterly clueless and annoyingly relentless in her pursuit."

"I don't know." I shrugged. "Maybe she just doesn't get it. She's a singer, not an actress. That one movie spot she landed doesn't count in my book." It was a pathetic attempt. She should stick to her songs, as depressing as they were.

"That, or she just feels that the rules don't apply to her. She's not the first and certainly not the last."

"Poor Jacob." I shook my head and laughed.

"Yes, him too," she agreed. I raised an inquiring eyebrow in hopes she'd spill the deets and elaborate a bit more. I hated when someone left a conversation open, especially one that implied further meaning.

"Sounds juicy."

"Edward Cullen," she whispered with a glint in her eye. She leaned forward and grabbed my bag from my shoulders. "Not only can she not take a hint, but she is utterly relentless in her thwarted pursuits," Rebecca said with a conspiratorial wink.

"No way." I laughed.

"Restroom is straight ahead. Go and wash up quickly." She smiled and gave me a gentle shove.

Brushing past the doors, I immediately cringed at the sight of my reflection in the double hung mirror in front of me. I had been dressed for comfort and travel—my plain Jane black leggings and cami, having abandoned the thick sweater I'd needed back in New York. Definitely not lunch attire. My hair was a mess and had already started to frizz up due to the California humidity. "Fantastic," I grumbled trying to smooth out the crown of my head, working my fingers down through the tangled mess. Luckily I had a fair complexion that required no substantial amount of make-up. I liked the natural look; it worked well for me. Splashing some water onto my cheeks, I pinched them a bit and sighed. It would just have to do.

The walk over to the bungalow was quiet, and I enjoyed the silence. The grounds were stunning, and it wasn't hard to guess why Elizabeth Taylor decided to marry here six out of the eight times she'd said "I do." Eight husbands? My parents' divorce notwithstanding, I had a hard enough time imagining myself tying the knot just once.

The interior of the suite did not disappoint. A few assistants mingled around a sofa, all of them typing furiously on their BlackBerry phones, while another stood against a very artful floral piece, pouring a few glasses of lemonade. I just kept my hands clasped together and followed Rebecca while digging through my bag to find my New York Yankees fitted baseball cap. I immediately felt like a scrub, and from the looks aimed my way, most of them seemed to agree. What was one hat going to do to change their impression?

"Amy, this is Bella Swan," Rebecca said, her hand gesturing towards me as I stood beside her awkwardly. "Amy is one of your father's assistants and handles the media for the most part." The woman glanced over her shoulder and frowned, setting down the pitcher and turning to me. I was once again taken aback by how young she appeared and made a mental note to tease my father with it later at lunch.

"Miss Swan, a pleasure." She sneered for a brief moment before fixing her features quickly. She took the hand I held to her and shook it too loosely for my liking. Business ethics had taught me that if a handshake is firm, it is therefore reliable. "Lemonade?" She gestured towards the pitcher, turning her back away from me once more. I was sure she meant to sound sweet, but it came out sour and bitter just like the drink in her hand. Remember what I said about first impressions and some leading to an instant dislike? I'd have to keep an eye on that one.

"Thank you." I took the glass she'd quickly thrust into my open hand, the liquid sloshing angrily at the sides. _Chill with the bitterness, doll face_.

"Mr. Swan should be finished within a few minutes, Rebecca," Amy said. "Please make sure she stays out of the way until then and don't touch anything." The last part must have been directed at me. It was a shitty thing for her to say, but I couldn't deny it was sound advice. I set down the glass and shoved my hands in my pockets. Looking around the room at all the glass objects was like a neon sign had been thrown up. _Recipe For Disaster_. I was blessed from an early age with the ability to trip over thin air at times. I'd like to think of it as checking in with gravity from time to time. I didn't view it as a quirk; it was more of a gift, one I had a major talent for, it seemed.

A tall man leaning against one of the outer walls straightened as he pocketed his phone and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from the lapel of his suit jacket. He walked towards the double doors and opened one, poking his head outside. It must have led to the outside patio and pool area; voices could be heard filtering into the lounge.

"That sounds absolutely enthralling, Mr. Swan," a woman's voice was saying.

"I'm hoping so." My father's rich chuckle was something no one would ever be able to duplicate. My heart squeezed just knowing he was on the other side of that door. I'd missed him terribly, and he had been entirely too focused and busy as of late. I was still, for all intents and purposes, a daddy's girl, and Renee hated it more with every passing year.

Two strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, causing me to shriek in surprise and throw out my hands, sending the glass of lemonade flying forward in the process. Startled gasps erupted all around the room. I removed myself with a huff, bent down to pick up the glass and placed it on the nearby table, cringing at the thought of an irate Amy seething somewhere in a far corner.

"Easy there, Ducky." The unmistakable voice snorted with amusement.

I whipped around and made sure to land at least one slap to the side of his muscular arm before the second hand could be clasped and detained. He always was a quick bastard; I had to give him that.

"Jacob Black." I grinned as he mockingly bowed his head in front of me. "How have you been, handsome?" I looked up at him and smiled, threading my fingers through his as they rested on his chest.

"Handsome," he said with a cheeky smile, causing us to both laugh, his pearly whites on full display. Jake had some serious teeth. I was secretly jealous—always had been. "You know, same old. Boring day, just different shit." He chuckled when I raised an eyebrow. "I swear. No cute punch line here, just a sad, sad fact, Duck." I had a hard time believing it for a second, what with Taylor Swift lurking around, and the fact that he was on the covers of more magazines than my father these days. _Boring life, my ass_.

"Why you still insist on calling me that after all these years, I'll never know, but you can stop now. Please." I disentangled our fingers. "And I'd hate to agree, but I do happen to know the feeling as of late." I shrugged as I fixed the collar of his navy blue dress shirt and took a step back. "My dad finishing up?" I asked, nodding once towards the back door.

"Any second now, by the looks of it. Nice hat." He chuckled, flicking the brim before swiping it off my head and chucking it on to a nearby table with no effort. "You in hiding from the general public or someone particular?" he asked with a boyish smirk. He really was adorable.

"Neither." I sneered, but I'm sure it came off as a lopsided smile. Jacob had such an easygoing personality and carefree attitude, loaded with a sick sense of humor, and just enough sarcasm thrown into the mix—my favorite combination. We clicked from day one and could always be found cracking jokes at social events. He could turn around any tight, strenuous situation in an instant, and I always seemed relaxed in his presence—I felt free to be myself around him. It was an impossible feat trying to even act annoyed with him, and by the looks of his broad smile spreading from ear to ear, he knew he had me pegged.

"You reek of bullshit, baby." He laughed and leaned in for a hug, wrapping his arms around my waist as my arms slid up to his shoulders. "Listen, Ducky, I'd hate to say a quick hello and run, but I'm trying to—"

"Dodge another bullet?" I choked out mid-laugh as his face paled. "Some people aren't that lucky." I mentally cringed at the thought of Taylor.

I squeezed his arms and stepped out of our embrace as he quickly caught on to what I'd been implying. "Shit," he groaned. "You ran into Taylor here?"

"Oh yes." I smirked. "We had a lovely—and completely one-sided, as usual—chat about her latest tryst with one of Hollywood's golden boys. You'll never guess who, Jake!" I squealed for added effect like a gushing fan girl.

"Knock it off." Jake didn't look too amused. "Fuck," he groaned, rubbing his palms over his eyes, his head bowing down as his shoulders slumped in defeat. I couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled out. "She must be fucking my PA or something." He shook his head as he looked around the room, his eyes narrowing. "She shouldn't have ever known I was here this morning."

"Not likely, Jake." I leaned forward and grabbed his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket and smiled. _Bingo!_ Opening up his contacts, I added my new cell phone number and smirked at the name I saved it under before handing it back to him. "Next time try password locking your phone, Hot Shot. Perez Hilton isn't the only one you have to worry about stealing your cell phone, Jake."

"There's no way—"

"I'm just saying," I interrupted. "A freshly fucked woman will ride her high before she finally crashes for the night."

"I'm not sleeping with—"

"A guy?" I snorted, cutting off his attempt to lie. "Usually they're out like a light within—"

"Yeah, right."

"Perfect opportunity to go on a full-fledged snoop fest." I wiggled my brows and smirked as he began to put two and two together. I nodded my head slowly, mouthing the word _yes_.

Jacob rolled his eyes and gave a disgruntled huff. "Well, I'm no one-shot, if that's what you're implying." He grimaced.

"Never said you were, Hollywood."

"I'd be more than happy to prove this to you later on tonight if you're around." He gave me a wolfish grin, blocking another of my attempts at a smack.

"Disgusting." I laughed and tried pulling my hands free from his insanely strong grasp.

"Where do you think you're going?" He placed my arms around his neck. "You're not being honest, Bella." He smirked, leaning in to whisper in my ear. "You're as red as a sunset." His breath was minty-fresh, his cologne musky and earthy. It was a heady combination. I took in a lungful and looked up into his dark brown, almost black eyes. "Beautiful," he said. _Oh, Jacob._ I internally sighed. He wasn't as subtle as he'd been a few years ago and had recently made it no secret that he wanted to take our friendship to another level. As much as I thought it could have been great—I'd be the first to admit, we _were_ great—it was a risk I couldn't bear to take. I valued our friendship too much. Having a real, true, and honest friend in this business was something incredibly rare to find. I valued it, and it wasn't someone I was willing to take a gamble on. Was I an idiot? Probably. But I'd never take that leap, so I'd never know.

The sound of a throat clearing broke me out of thoughts and I turned, hands still wrapped tightly around Jake's neck, praying to any God that would listen that it wasn't Charlie. That wouldn't have gone over too well. I should have thought to pray harder. My eyes locked onto an angry gaze that burned holes into the side of Jacob's head as he refused to look at me.

"Hello, Isabella." The arrogant asshole sneered, hands resting leisurely in his suit pants pockets.

"C-Cullen," I stuttered, caught off-guard. _What the hell was he doing at my father's cast interview?_

"Edward," Jacob said flippantly without taking his eyes off mine. "Call me." Jake winked before stepping back and turning around to walk towards the doors. Fucking cop out! What happened to friends having each other's backs!?

I stood there for a moment in silence gathering my wits as my defensive barrier built itself up once again. "I'm shocked to see you here," I grumbled, looking around the room to see why my father was taking so long. It had been a few minutes now since the interview should have wrapped, and it was obvious as I noticed new faces among the crowded room standing alongside their human PalmPilots. Unfortunately, there was still no sign of Charlie.

"And why would that be?" He sighed, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. "One second, please." Ever the gentlemen he appeared to the public, he paused, putting the phone up to his ear. "Cullen," he answered shortly.

I snorted, turning to walk away. A firm hand clasped onto my forearm, spinning me back around where I was immediately met with a forceful glare daring me to move.

"Send her in," he ordered briskly before hanging up and pocketing the phone again.

"Still barking orders, I see," I growled, pulling my arm back and folding them across my chest in a defensive stance. I must have looked like a petulant child standing there, all but a foot tapping on the tile floor—not that I cared at the moment. I had more pull in this room then he ever would; he couldn't intimidate me here. I remembered a teenage Edward sporting braces, eye glasses, and acne. I suddenly wanted to poke him in the contacts.

"I am punctual and to the point," he stated, bringing me back to the present, to his current age and arrogance. "Is there a reason to be otherwise, Isabella?" He tilted his head to the side, arching a brow and looking down at me behind long, dark eyelashes that framed a set of piercing green eyes. When he moved into my personal space, I took a step back to regain my standing, a solid foot beneath his towering figure. There was no doubt—Edward Cullen was gorgeous, beautiful, even, and he knew it, too. He was confident but not cocky; he was comfortable with himself. Being the unfortunate one and having known him my entire life, he had been especially comfortable around me. "I didn't think so." He smirked triumphantly. He was arrogant too, but even I had to agree, it was just part of his appeal. "To answer your question, I was here because it was required of me as stated in my contract with Swan Productions," he continued nonchalantly as if it didn't matter. I wondered what Carlisle thought and made a mental note to ask Charlie later.

"How unfortunate." I frowned sarcastically—okay, a bit dramatically if I were being honest—but definitely not flirtatious in the slightest. I mentally cursed my father for purposefully leaving out the names cast in his latest film. It was clear why. _Dammit, daddy_, I silently fumed.

"Hmm." He smiled, leaning in, catching on to my play. "How so?" he inquired, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.

I grinned and mentally patted myself on the back. My goading in hopes of getting a bit of information had worked; he took my bait hook, line, and sinker. "I was under the impression Charlie was scouting for some real talent for his next project." I shrugged half-heartedly, turning my head to hide a smile, not wanting my cover blown while cutting myself some slack, having not been in any acting roles in well over a year.

"Is that so?" He chuckled.

"It will be a travesty." I sighed, fighting the urge to laugh and break character. I quickly made eye contact with Rebecca, who was standing in the corner with Amy, eyeing our conversation. Jutting out my chin slightly in her direction, I danced internally as she caught on and walked towards me.

"A travesty, you say, Miss Swan," he breathed into my ear.

I turned my head towards his face, inches away from his parted lips. "Yes," I said, licking my top lip. "He was sure of winning Oscar this year," I whispered, taking full advantage of his perplexed state, quickly pulling out of his hold. "Obviously not." With a grin full of condescension, I patted his suit jacket and stepped back to look at his flummoxed expression, which he was quick to control. _Typical guy_, I thought, unable to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

"Bella." Rebecca smiled pleasantly as she came to stand at my side. "Mr. Cullen." She nodded to acknowledge his presence; not doing so would have been rude. I tried—failing miserably—to contain the grin that spread across my face. "Your father—"

"Bells!" a voice shouted from across the room.

"Is ready," she finished, gesturing towards Charlie.

Turning towards the sound of my father's voice, I sprinted across the room and landed into his open arms, not caring how childish it might have looked.

"Dad!" I squealed as he returned the tight hug, knocking the wind out of me. The one thing I loved about our reunions was that Charlie never cared who was around to witness them. The press knew he was a devoted father and a very affectionate man—one who happened to give the best hugs on the Earth. Everyone around us faded away with each second I was held within the safest place I knew, my safe haven—my father's arms. I reestablished my confidence and gathered my misplaced strength and purpose for my recent move. My second-guessing and insecurities chipped away and fell to the floor around me along with the intimidating glamour of Hollywood. With renewed purpose, still wrapped securely within my father's arms, still clad in my boring leggings and no frills tank top and feeling high off of my newfound resolve, I lifted my head and smiled, looking up into his crinkled eyes. "Hey." I sighed happily.

"Hey right back at you, kid." We must have stood there in silence for a few seconds, but to me it had seemed like a lifetime, one in which I had spent on the other side of the country, away from him.

"Welcome home, Bells," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with age lines as he smiled at me.

I leaned back in for another hug; I couldn't help myself. "Feels like home now," I whispered, low enough so that others wouldn't hear besides Charlie. He needed to hear it, and it had to be said, everyone else in the room—Hollywood—be damned. They had already been privy to enough, and I didn't like to air my personal side like most did for the drama and publicity.

Charlie gave me one last squeeze to acknowledge he heard me, nodded, and turned, wrapping my arm around his. We walked towards his assistants who stood like wooden soldiers with sticks jammed up their asses. It couldn't have been comfortable, and I wondered why they had acted so business-like, given my father's usual easy going nature.

"Bella," he said, gesturing towards his harem of stiffs—Becky not included. "If you haven't been already, I would like to introduce—"

"I've already taken the liberty, Charles," Amy said, cutting him off and stepping forward to address him. Her smile was too wide, too sweet, and came off too fake. I looked towards Becky and raised an eyebrow as she jerked her head and looked to the side. I nodded slightly and bit my lip to hold myself back from correcting Little Miss Corrupt. It would be the last time I let anyone take someone else's credit again, and by the look I shot Amy, I knew she had caught on as she stepped back and folded her hands in front of her.

"Wonderful." He smiled in her direction and looked back at me. "These girls make my life just a bit more manageable these days, Bells. Anything you need, if you can't find me, let them know, okay?" he said, placing an arm around my shoulder and puling me into a side hug.

"Your hat, Miss Swan." Amy gestured—more like cringed—towards the table my neglected hat was resting on, compliments of Jake.

"Oh, Bells." Charlie laughed. "You still have this old thing?" He smiled affectionately and reached over to gently pick up the hat as if it were made of precious blown glass and would crumble under his fingertips. Yeah, he remembered, and my heart swelled a little bit more.

"Of course." I felt the corner of my eyes prick. "Yours?" I asked, clearing my throat.

"On the first peg in the front closet when it's not on the top of my head," he said, stretching his arm out to place the hat gingerly on top of my head. "I do have to say that this one is in much better condition than mine." I grinned and looked towards Amy, making sure my teeth were on full display by that point. _Don't knock the hat again, bitch._

"Care to dine al fresco today, Miss Swan?" he asked in a British accent, winking at me when I looked up and laughed. Charlie, ever the charmer. I decided to join in on the fun, dropping my guard, and smiled.

"Why, I would be delighted, Mr. Swan," I replied in a bad attempt at an accent, earning a deep chuckle and megawatt smile from my father.

"Amy, Rebecca, please hold all my calls for the rest of the afternoon unless it is truly an emergency. I have a hot date, and I don't want to be bothered." He laughed, Becky joining in as Amy nodded stiffly.

"I hope you've freed your—" Charlie began but was cut off as Edward stepped in front of us.

"Charlie," he greeted.

"Edward, my boy, what can I do for you? I was just taking Bella here out to lunch. Care to join us for a bite?" he asked as I narrowed my eyes at him and openly glared in hopes he'd get the point and decline.

"I would love to," Edward said, smiling in my direction. It was a rare occasion when I felt the need to use physical force on someone. Very rare indeed, but I would have loved nothing more than to punch Cullen in his perfect nose at that moment in— "Unfortunately I already have lunch plans," he concluded winking at me. What an asshole. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"How unfortunate. We would have loved having you join us, Edward." I smiled as my nails dug into the palms of my hands.

"I hate to disappoint, Isabella."

"Our girl is finally home," Charlie added excitedly. "Are you sure you can't have a quick drink to catch up with us?" _Oh, for the love of God._

"Yes, she is, and you're right—this is cause for a celebration. Where will you be dining?" he asked. "I'm sure I can—"

"Here, actually," Charlie replied. "At the Cabana Cafe."

"Here?" he stammered, taken aback. "I'll be on site as well." I noticed his hands begin to fiddle with the cell phone I knew he had in his pocket. Cullen had a case of nerves. Interesting. "As soon as I wrap up my lunch meeting, I'll be sure to meet up with the both of you."

"Who are you having lunch with?" Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow. _Yes, who indeed, Cullen?_

I smirked and dropped my head to hold back from saying something bitchy. _That lemonade must have been spiked_, I thought sarcastically.

"Oh," Charlie interrupted. "Jane, will you wait a minute, please?" He held up his hand up to get someone's attention. "Sorry to interrupt, guys. Bella, why don't you go and get us a table and I'll be over in a few minutes? I have to fill Jane in on something before she leaves," he said, kissing the top of my head. "Edward, hopefully we'll see you in a bit," he called out as he briskly walked over to talk to some blonde in a pinstripe suit.

I groaned and side-stepped Edward as I headed towards the doors. I wasn't even going to bother saying goodbye to him, hoping he had more sense in that head of his and was just trying to be polite in front of my father. Lunch meeting? I highly doubted that. I snorted, unaware someone was trailing me.

"Care to let me in on the joke, Swan?"

Startled out of my internal debate, I jumped and almost sent myself into a nearby bush. "None of your business," I replied curtly, snatching my arm away from him. "And why are you following me, Cullen?" I spat. "Creepy as fuck," I mumbled under my breath.

"I figured since I'll be seeing a lot of you from now on, I'd try—against my better judgment—to get along, at least for the sake of appearances. Let's shoot the shit, Swan, for old times' sake at least."

"Old times' sake?" I shot back, bitch brow fully in place. "That's rich, even for you, Cullen."

"Humor me," he pleaded, giving me what he must have thought was a conciliatory smile. "Please?"

"Not on your life."

"Ouch, you wound me." He placed a mocking hand over his heart. "The last time I saw you, well, parts of you, had been at the—" His eyes lit up with amusement as he not-so-subtly turned his head to check out my ass.

I scoffed, cutting off his verbal vomit, and turned my body away from his prying eyes. "And last time I had the displeasure, you had your tongue shoved down Scarlett Johansson's throat while palming an obscene amount of silicone."

"What are you talking about, Swan?" He seemed truly intrigued.

"There's a time and place for everything, and the 'Thank You Cam' isn't one of them. Tsk, tsk, Cullen." I doubled my steps in hopes of reaching the restaurant sooner and ridding myself of him.

"Scarlett is old news, not that she was ever news to begin with, and I had nothing to do with—"

"Don't care," I interrupted in a frustrated tone.

"I'm sure you don't. Obviously you didn't stick around for the _thank you_ part.

"Your point?"

"Do you even have a point to this mindless rant? If you do—"

"You're an asshole. There's one," I said, cutting him off as I walked into the hotel and spotted the ladies' room. I wasn't above hiding out in there for a few minutes to bide my time and ditch this piece of work.

"That's not a point." He grinned. "It's a fact."

"You want a fact?" I stopped in my tracks as Edward quickly took a step back to keep from knocking into me.

"Go for it." He leaned into the wall, crossing his ankles.

"Leonardo DiCaprio still hasn't won an Oscar."

"Still missing the point."

"You haven't either, Hollywood." I laughed as I pushed open the bathroom door. "Have fun with your lunch date, Cullen," I shouted back to him as I walked in.

* * *

**AN:** Don't you think it's about time Leonardo DiCaprio won an Oscar? I do. Thank you to ADF for the Monthly Hidden Gem find/rec and to all of my reviewers. It honestly does make me smile to hear from you guys. That being said I hope to have another chapter out within a week, give or take.


End file.
